Authors: Jerry B. Jenkins
I, Saul (36 page)
“I am so weary of darkness,” Paul told Luke. “Your visits are of great encouragement, but nothing is so disheartening as being unable to see.”
Luke had been in the dungeon only a few minutes when a loud scrape signaled the wood cover being dragged away from the hole. Primus leapt into the cell, and another guard handed him down a torch. “I am officially here to make sure your doctor is following protocol, Paul. But we all must whisper so I can show you what I found earlier today while you were asleep.”
“I knew someone was here,” Paul said, “but I could not muster the strength to even sit up. What were you working on?”
“Come and see.”
Luke and Paul followed him until Paul reached the end of his chain. “For many months I have had my eye on that block of tufa,” Primus
said. “See how the mortar has crumbled? Watch this.” He knelt and worked the limestone this way and that until he was able to slide it away from the foundation. “It just needed coaxing. But now you have your own small storage area. In the morning, before anyone from the first watch has any reason to be down here, stow your extra coverings here and slide the stone all the way back in.”
“I cannot imagine I have the strength,” Paul said, slowly bending to get his fingers on the edge of the block. It slid out so quickly Luke had to catch him before he fell on his seat. “How did you do that, Primus?”
“A little ingenuity,” the guard said. He lifted the end of the stone and pulled a thin, round dowel from beneath it. “I set several of these under the loose block. Just make sure these stay in place, and the heavy stone will move easily. When pressed flush with the wall it appears tight, yet there is room behind it.”
“Splendid,” Paul said.
“I just don't want any of the three of us to get in trouble again,” the guard said.
That night as Luke picked up his reading, he couldn't help contrasting the frail old man in the dungeon with the fierce conscience of the Sanhedrin from thirty-five years before.
When I first heard the claims that the miracle worker from Galilee had risen from the dead, I was neither exercised nor enraged. I just roared with laughter. “His poor deluded minions just can't let this one go!” I cried, holding my belly as I swayed back and forth on my stool. “Some claim to have seen him, to have talked with him, to have eaten with him! I did not know ghosts had appetites! Well, where is he now?
Why does he not visit us? Why only those who knew him? They have no credibility. Say, sorcerer, show yourself to a skeptic. Convince someone.”
For days I took great delight in making sport of the followers of Jesus, who seemed determined to keep his movement alive. I told Gamaliel, “You more than I have seen others who thrilled a sizable band of the gullible, only to have their causes dry up and blow away when they passed from the earth.”
“It's true,” Nasi said. “These things have a way of taking care of themselves.”
Not many weeks hence, however, even I had to acknowledge that the band of disciples Jesus gathered had only grown since his crucifixion. That made no sense. Now there were rumors that these men were performing the same kinds of miracles Jesus had. As their numbers increased, so, it seemed, did their boldness. Not only did they go about brazenly preaching Jesus' gospel, but they also brought this heresy to the Temple Mount.
Soon I no longer found them amusing. They had grown to much more than a nuisance. They ignored our laws, flouted them, even disobeyed the direct orders of Caiaphas to stop preaching in the name of Jesus.
Some from our ranksâeven priestsâdefected and became believers. On one day alone, thousands of Jerusalem citizens joined their numbers. Their leaders, the most visible an uneducated fisherman from Galilee named Peter, escaped from prison!
Was I jealous of their popularity and influence? Truly, I
was not. Was I worried about the influence they were having on my fellow Jews? Of course I was. But primarily I was livid over their refusal to obey the Sanhedrin. When their numbers began multiplying virtually every day, something had to be done. This movement had taken on a life of its own. Jesus had become more than a martyr. They did not apologize for claiming that he was the son of God, the Messiah, that he had risen from the dead, then appeared to dozens of them, and was transported into heaven before their very eyes.
This I could not abide. I scoured the law books and pleaded with Nathanael and other leaders of the Sanhedrin to allow me to enforce justice if they wouldn't. I would snuff out this blasphemous cult that had taken to sharing everything communally, meeting in private homes, and proclaiming a resurrected son of God.
I dragged them before the council and told Annas and Caiaphas that these men had flagrantly disobeyed their direct orders. Caiaphas leapt to his feet and said, “Did we not strictly command you not to teach in this name? And look, you have filled Jerusalem with your doctrine and intend to bring this man's blood on us!”
Peter said, “We ought to obey God rather than men. The God of our fathers raised up Jesus, whom you murdered by hanging on a tree. God has exalted Him to His right hand to be Prince and Savior, to give repentance to Israel and forgiveness of sins. And we are His witnesses to these things, and so also is the Holy Spirit whom God has given to those who obey Him.”
That was all I needed to hear. These men were as worthy of death as their blasphemous leader had been. “You should kill them where they stand!” I said.
As soon as I saw Gamaliel get up, I knew he would thwart my plan with some weak, conciliatory appeal for reason. After he commanded that Peter and the other apostles be temporarily excused, he said, “Men of Israel, take heed to yourselves what you intend to do regarding these men. Keep away from these men and let them alone; for if this is of men, it will come to nothing; but if it is of God, you cannot overthrow it.”
As usual, the other members of the Sanhedrin solemnly nodded. At least they called the apostles back in and beat them for disobeying. They were commanded again not to speak in the name of Jesus, but then they were set free.
This was a grave error. For days, in the temple and in houses all over Jerusalem, they continued to ignore the council's orders and preached Jesus as the Christ.
I reported to the Sanhedrin every such incident and worked tirelessly to rally support for taking drastic action against these people. The religious leaders of Jerusalem had to put a stop to this. They absolutely had to.
Téléphone à Trois
MQNDAY, MAY 12, 9:50 A.M.
Augie raced to the hotel cab stand, ready to run if he couldn't get one. He had long taught seminary students that becoming a person of faith was no guarantee things would always go well for you. He said silently,
Lord, Your Word says man is destined for trouble as surely as sparks fly upward, but You also promise You will be with me until the end. I just hope today isn't it. Tell me what to do.
Augie wasn't from a culture comfortable with God speaking audibly to His people. He had always believed he should trust God fully and follow his own conscience. But right now he would have appreciated specifics.
When his turn came he dove into the back seat and said, “Piazza Sant'Ignazio.”
The cabbie adjusted the mirror to look directly at Augie. “That is a
polizia
building. Lots of carabinieri right here.”
“Quickly, please.”
Augie's phone began chirping with texts from Roger. “out just in time. heard elevator while heading 2 stairs. cop cars in front. escaped out the side. pick me up?”
“stay put,” Augie texted back. “back 2 u later.”
“Sof w/u?”
“cops got her.”
“where u?”
“art squad.”
“avoid. danger.”
“got 2 take chance. Later.”
The Art Squad was housed in an ornate four-story salmon-colored stucco building bearing two flags below the third-floor windows and directly above the entrance. “Beautiful, no?” the driver said. “Almost three hundred years old. Protected landmark. Cannot deliver you to door. Those plants in concrete vases are actually barricades.”
Augie got out across the street, where he found a shaded area with tables and chairs. Augie had calls he couldn't make in front of anyone anyway, and he couldn't just waltz into Art Squad headquarters. He set his empty bag on a wrought iron table and sat, careful not to look at the building as his face had to be known to authorities by now. He phoned Malfees Trikoupis.
“Dr. Knox!” the man exulted. “I was about to call you to arrange a meeting tonight. Good to hear your voice. Are you as excited as I am with Dimos's conclusions? We are both going to enjoy a hugeâ.”
“So you haven't heard ⦔
“All I heard was good news. He called after midnight last night andâ.”
“Fokinos is dead, sir. And Sofia has been arrested.”
Trikoupis voice lost its ebullience. “What are you telling me?”
“Fokinos was assassinated in his hotel room, so the carabinieri wanted to talk with the woman who had arrived with him from Greece.”
“The man you are to meet with tonight can straighten this out right now.”
“Is he highly placed enough to help with something this big?”
“Of course. I'll call and patch you in, and you'll see. But you must not speak. I guarantee she will be free very soon.”
“Is this worth it, Mr. T.? Lying to your daughter, getting your employee killed â¦.”
“I had nothing to do with that! But listen to me, Augie, the fewer people involved, the more value this project has to those of us who remain.”
“Fokinos was here for you, sir, acting on your promise! His death isn't even a nuisance to you?”
Trikoupis suddenly sounded like himself again, hardly agitated despite that his employee had been murdered and his daughter taken into custody. “Well, it's both sad and an opportunity, August. Surely you can see that.”
“But if Dimos could be eliminated, Sofia could too!”
“I won't let that happen. You'll see. Give me your number so I can link the call.”
Oh, no, you don't.
“You don't need my number. I'll just stay on while you patch in your guy.”
“You'll be impressed.”
When the call was connected, Augie heard, “Malfees Trikoupis calling for Deputy Director Sardinia.”
“Good morning, sir! He's out. Would you like the colonel?”
“No, I'll try Aldo's cell.”
Within seconds Augie heard Sardinia's voice for the first time. It was clear he knew who was calling. “Hello, friend,” he said.
“Can you talk, Aldo?”
“Not really. How are you?”
“None too pleased at the moment. My daughter will not be collateral damage if you have any continued interest in our agreement.”